


A Different Kind of Magic

by QuietSouls



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 13 Days of Clexa, Clextober, F/F, Magic!Lexa, adorable clarke, clexa au, magic!clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 14:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21100658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietSouls/pseuds/QuietSouls
Summary: Clarke thought she knew magic. Until now.





	A Different Kind of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> My first Clexa story.  
For Clextober 19, Day 13. A Pinch of Magic

The hairs on my arms stand to attention; thousands of tiny soldiers, rigid and erect, drawn by the tell-tale shiver of electricity in the air. A clear sign of magic. I glance around discreetly, trying to get a bead of the magical being manipulating their powers near me. Most witches lacked the ability to sense the subtle current that gently licked and nudged at us when magic was used, careful and precise and as lover could be.

There are only three other people near me, close enough to be the culprit, and on the face of it, none of them seem out of place in the almost silent library. The first two, obviously human, are sat close enough that there is no doubt about their relationship, almost sat on the others’ lap. One, a handsome boy with a shorn head and goggles draped uselessly around his thin neck, is ignoring the thick tome in front of him. Instead, he is mystified by his companion; a pretty brunette with a heart-shaped face and full lips. Her dark eyes skim her own page before leaving it momentarily, shifting up to find his adoring grin fixed on her. Her soft admonishment floats between them, filling up the space before dispersing at the press of his lips to hers. The rosy blush that creeps over her cheeks and down her neck is awfully endearing as she sweeps the library for observers.

I allow a quick twitch of a smirk and move my scrutiny to the other person; a brunette, a little older, with an intricate braid pulling back and twisting her long locks in place, offset by her raised eyebrow. Her long fingers dance lightly over the paper on the table as bee-stung lips move in minute trembles, as if whispering the words to herself. A quiet pop echoes in my ears, similar to being on an airplane but I barely pay it any attention, my interest resting solely on the extraordinarily beautiful girl in front of me. Time almost seems to stand still as I watch her, my own studying losing out. It’s only when I notice that the tinny beats from my earphones have been silenced that I realize time has literally stopped.

The love-up couple are still locked in their barely-there kiss, the clock above the counter stuck with its hands pointing out 5:51. With wide eyes, I look back to the girl by herself to see a small satisfied grin on her face, reaching for a stack of books piled to her left.

“Holy shit,” the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I curse whatever genetic trait I inherited from my father that left me filterless and unable to hold back word-vomit. The girl startles, letting a low and terrifying growl as one hand instinctively whips to the base of her back. Instantly, my hands are in the air; the international sign for: ‘I come in peace.’

“How are you doing that?” God, her voice is deliciously sinful; all bass and rasp, soft and dangerous at the same time. It’s only now that I realize her eyes are the most exquisite green. Forest moss and tranquil tides. “Answer me.” Her sharp rebuke spurs me from my pretty-girl induced stupor.

“I’m not the witch that can mess with time. Isn’t that a little above your pay grade, sweetheart?” ‘Of course. You choose now to flirt.’ She relaxes just a touch, placing both hands flat on her thighs before licking those plump lips.

“You’re a witch? What are the chances? I thought were a dying breed.” Confusion furrows my brow as I take in her words.

“Dying breed? What are you talking about?” I sense her doubt a second before she shoots me a patronizing smile, the tug of lips doing nothing to diminish the uncertainty in her jade orbs.

“Witches! We aren’t being born as frequently and our magic is being coveted by non-magic humans. Your guardian didn’t teach you all of this?” A soft snicker bubbles from my nose, unbidden, and I instantly regret it as her face falls.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh, I just – ‘Guardian’? You grew up with a guardian?” Her tanned cheeks quickly turn scarlet as she averts her gaze and I somehow instantly miss the heavy green. A childlike vulnerability settles in her wide eyes and trembling chin, as well as a fear I couldn’t place but could feel emanating from her in waves. Almost as if she had given up precious information that she hadn’t meant to. I inexplicably want to rush to her side, take her into my arms and sooth away her insecurity. So sudden and strong the urge, it takes me aback.

“Yes. We all were. All the magic borne in my town, as is tradition. Right?” The strength in her voice, the surety of her statement, dwindles until it ends in the softest question. Barely even an uptick in her inflection but it gives her away.

“I don’t know about that tradition. I stayed with my family. My friends. That is how I learnt.” The most gentle of sighs is her only reply, deafening in the stillness of the room. Thrusting all caution aside, I carefully stand, moving around my small table to hers and take the empty chair next to her. Sea foam eyes find mine, flushed with a relief that warms me as an audible click snaps time back into focus, dispersing the electricity in the air. I just have to know more about her, about her life, about everything she has been through. At the same time, I didn’t need to a single thing past gentle eyes and full lips.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you-“ Make her what? Vulnerable? Cry? I don’t know how to finish that sentiment. All I know is that guilt filters heavy onto my chest and makes it hard to breathe in the quiet of the library.

“You didn’t,” she supplies quickly. Even in her own sadness she is trying to spare me mine. “I didn’t know it was different anywhere else. Our town is reasonably isolated. Not many witches are born there anymore and we don’t get many visitors.” Her voice drops to a pleasantly low rumble; aware of the humans in the vicinity, and I find myself drawing closer. A deep warmth infuses through my body and I hum at her words.

“It sounds lonely.” Her mouth tugs on one side, barely enough to be considered a smile. Barely enough to be noticed unless you were really looking for it. I was really looking for it. I wanted to do whatever it took to see that tug again.

“I had friends. Anya and Lincoln really helped get me through that first year. Indra pushed for me to leave and attend Polis.” Curiosity gets the better of me and with playful glimmer I ask her more questions. She reciprocates. I learn that Tondisi has many old and, frankly, scary traditions that most of the magical world do not partake in. They still use the old words to describe magic children, Natblida. Night blood. We were taught about the theory that magical blood came from darkness, evil, but most civilized communities actively sought to eliminate that myth. Everything I found made my heart ache for this smart, sweet girl, but it made me proud that she had fought her way here.

Hours pass in a blur, this time without the aid of magic, and the stern-faced librarian calls time on our conversation. “Do you want to go grab a coffee?” My breath stills as I wait for her reply, my heart pounding in my ears. Her shy nod and blush-pink ears are the most endearing thing I’ve seen so far. As we step outside, the sky captures my attention. Blazing orange dapples the expanse, clinging to the tips of clouds in a desperate attempt to fight the inky purple bruise of twilight that is steadily creeping from East to West. In one final stand, angry crimson flames the horizon leaving no doubt of the anger the Sun holds at being forced to retreat.

The invading midnight blue casts a strange, enchanting glow around her and more than ever I’m convinced magic exists outside of witches and spells. It exists in moments like this. In simply being. Jade pins me and with a huffed gasp I close the distance between us, lips meeting in a careful dance that lingers after we part. Her nose brushes over mine, tickling in the best of ways, and I know that I am irrevocably under her spell.


End file.
